Knock Out
by knifewounds
Summary: Taking a good hit doesn't always mean you're shatterproof. Follow Little Mac in his everyday struggles he tries to cope with. Will probably include the other smashers in later chapters. darkfic


Little Mac pounds his battered fist into the sandbag for the thousanth time. His knuckles throb in protest and his digits felt numb from squeezing his fist so tight. The skin mottled with slotches of eggplant tinted bruises. Sweat trickles down his back and he takes a quick breath before slamming his hand down hard again, picturing the sandbag as something else. As if his anguish and frustrations manifested into a solid form in front of him. It felt as though no matter how hard he beat it, it would just never die, he knew that. But pounding it into submission somehow gave him some twisted kind of short lived peace within him. If only he could just make this stupid thing as damaged as he was everything would be okay again. Of course he realized that was impossible on a surface level, made himself sound like some kind of wacko who believed in the stuff dimestore mags told you. Nevertheless it kept him going when nothing else would. When he wanted to just fall apart and shatter into fragments along the floor.  
After another hour or so, he left the gym, thankful Doc Louie hadn't decided to join him. It's better that way, he can clear his head... without much, distraction. Easier to lose himself more with each excruciting blow. Mac flexes his aching palms on the subway ride back home. The rush of endorphins flowing through his veins calmed down his boiling blood, and combined with exhaustion, it was comforting. Eased the tension in his cracked ribs from his last fight. The bandages did little to conceal the abuse inflicted on his hands, the crimson stains seeping through, needed no words. Noticing the quiet stares from strangers eyes near him, he pulled them back into the sleeve of his pink hoodie. Away from judging eyes, some of them fearful for what sort of violent act he must have commited to get those wounds. Bashed a girls head in maybe, or fought in a gang war. They didn't understand, and he ignored it, it wasn't worth explaining it to some nobody who wouldn't give two shits about him otherwise. Mac kept his eyes to the floor and waited for his stop for the rest of the duration.  
Upon returning back to the crummy apartment he rented with doc, Mac entered without as much as a peep. Doc was asleep in front of the TV again, and Mac returned to his room dead tired. He took a hot shower before plopping down on the bed in his pajama's. Had to get proper rest before a fight afterall, that he learned the hard way. Sleep deprivation made your instincts slow and stupid, unable to sense things, like a fist coming straight for your jawbone. "I'm gonna clobber that meat head tomrrow... They'll all see." Little Mac mumbled softly to himself for reassurance. He would win that fight tomorrow, he had to. Things would only get worse if he didn't. Doc Louie would taken that loss as if it were his own failure out there. The proud light would leave his eyes and it would be replaced with something Little Mac could hardly stand looking at. The need to win, for fame and glory would consume his mind, quite like a junkie without his fix and just as frantic and irrational. Training would increase tenfold, the diet stricter until little Mac could barely even keep his sanity intact or even his humanity for that matter. At times like that.. he felt like a dog, or worse a machine. Operating on just what was required, carrying out orders without complaint or question until he couldn't feel anything anymore. Until he tasted that victory won by blood, tears shed known only to himself and good old fashioned sweat.  
Little Mac places a heating pad on his sore patches underneathe the covers and flips on the TV for something to fall asleep to. Not something depressing like the news. He settled on a travel documentary. Pleasant images of tropical places he'd never get to visit. Landmarks, history, museums filled with art, somewhere he'd never be caught dead in. He always felt wrong in nice places like that after coming from the neighborhoods he grew up in. A stranger would probably think he was just there because someone dragged him there or he was casing the place for a robbery. Nope, his type just wasn't smart enough to appreciate art or even understand it or whatever. But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it on cheap cable.  
After awhile his eyelids grew heavy and words became muffled and he fell asleep thinking about picasso. Morning came fast, heavy sausage fingers gripped onto him and he awoke panicked and wide eyed, brain frantically trying to awake and figure out what was going on. "Wakey wakey Today's the day Mac!" Doc Louie grinned like an idiot at the teen who was still panting hollowed breaths. Little Mac forced a smile back and let it fill his cheeks. "Mornin' Doc, hope I didn't sleep in." As stupid as that statement was judging from the lack of sunlight at the window, it gave him something to fill his mouth. He wasn't as good with words as others, thus during matches and dealing with the public, he usually just kept his mouth shut and let Doc talk for him.  
"'Course not Macky, you think I'd let your ass lay in bed all day?" Doc eyed him, joyous expression shifting slightly. His words carried the undertone of an accusation rather than a harmless retort. Mac shook his head no, and pushed off the covers stretching. "I have school.." Mac mumbled, then gathered up some clothes to wear from his closet. "The hell you do!" Doc Louie practically screamed and Little Mac froze, not expecting the man's temper to flare up so early. Little Mac fumbled with his words. "It's... er um I- I-" Doc stared him down hard. "Go on boy." he said stone faced waiting for Mac to make up his meager excuse. "I gotta go doc, I don't wanna repeat the same thing next year. Principle said I'm this close to getting kicked out, alright?" Doc didn't flinch. "So?"  
"I can't screw this up." Little Mac answered, eyes drifting toward the wall behind him. He'd already missed so much school hours recovering from bad hits, it was a miracle he was still even allowed in any of his classes. Little Mac tried to hold his ground even though his insides were on fire. "Look, if I stop goin' they is just gonna make me go anyways, I don't wanna get you in state trouble for this... I need to do my time there like everybody else.." he tried to reason, hoping that was enough to make him understand. "Fine, but after this we are gonna just get your damn GED, got it? I don't want this education crackpot nonsense throwing you off your game. What does a boxer need with algebra? Worthless junk if you ask me, son." Mac nodded in agreement just to end the conversation and be done with it. If he tried to say he actually liked school that would just set off Louie more and he'd never make it there.  
Mac escaped to the bathroom, cleaned himself up and got dressed for the day, wearing a dark green shirt, black pants and his high top sneakers. The shoes were a pain to tie with his mitts the way they were, pulsing with every jerk and touch. With care, he washed his hands in warm water, making it as hot as he could stand, to ease the stiffness and inflammation in them. The relief that came outweighed the scalding his surface skin was experiencing. Once they were good and red, he wrapped them up again, and placed them in a set of gloves. Satified, he left and wandered into the kitchen area, which wasn't all that impressive. A small second hand table that had seen better years next to a fridge and a microwave, and a few other just as old appliances. Mac supressed his hunger and reached for a gray protein shake waiting for him in the fridge. He wasn't usually allowed to eat until after the fight. Doc told him time and time again, you don't want a belly full of food when taking a hit to the gut. Mac understood, but in a different way, he didn't want nerves to overwhelm him enough to physically throw up in front of everyone.  
Doc Louie was perch at the table picking his way through the newspaper. Mac joined him, and sipped the thick nasty liquid, trying his best to enjoy it, wondering what the hell Doc threw in it this time. Wasn't natural at all, but Mac knew better than to question him. Probably just feed him another lie anyways, and Mac would try to believe it for awhile because it was what he wanted to be true. Little Mac tried not to watch as Doc Louie shoved morsels of egg into his mouth with the occasional sip of coffee. Tried not to imagine what it tasted like as the smell got to him. After, he reminded himself. Then he could have some, maybe. Little Mac choked down the rest of the vomit textured drink and stood up. "See ya later, Doc." he chimed then left the cramped apartment, snatching up his backpack by the door.


End file.
